Page 46 of Wild Idol
Darius would live, but he might not use that right arm again. He certainly had a long recovery ahead of him.
I read him his rights.
It wasn’t long before the EMTs and paramedics arrived. They took over and stopped the bleeding. When Deezy was stable, they transferred him to a gurney and wheeled him out of the condo.
We searched the place and confiscated his laptop, phone, and tablet, hoping there were incriminating pictures or text messages on the devices.
We left the condo and returned to the station to fill out after-action reports. I surrendered my duty weapon and was put on leave. It provided a great excuse to take a few days off and see if we could talk any sense into Ivy.
At the least, Darius was going down for attempted murder of a police officer. But I knew Haley didn’t get in that dumpster without help from his friends, and I wanted names. I intended to have a little chat with the punk after he was out of surgery.
25
“That place no good,” our guide said in broken English. “What you want is Tzacamaya. Golden beaches, teal water, beautiful girls,” he said, drawing the outline of a sumptuous figure with his fingers.
I had booked reservations at Solomon’swellness retreatonline. The guru was hiding in plain sight. Xaqualta and San Montego had no extradition treaties with the United States.
We had flown into San Montego the day before and spent the night in a luxury hotel not far from the marina.
San Montego was off the beaten path, and there were no direct flights commercially. Fortunately, Mr. Wellington had chartered a plane, and the flight down was quite enjoyable. A momentary respite from the chaos.
JD had arranged a guide to take us to the island. As usual, it was never straightforward or simple. We stood on the rickety dock of the marina, trying to get Miguel to honor his commitment.
“No,” I said. “We want to go to Xaqualta.”
He frowned and shook his head. “I have taken many people to Xaqualta. They all come back…” He swirled circles around his brain with his index finger, indicating that everyone who had visited the island had returned with a touch of madness.
“We have reservations.”
Miguel just shook his head. “I’m telling you. Tzacamaya. I know a place you can stay. I can get you a discount. Half price. Half-price girls too.” He smiled with a lecherous grin.
“We don’t need to pay for it,” JD said.
Miguel kept smiling. “You always pay for it.” He burst into laughter.
“We’re looking for someone on Xaqualta,” I said.
“A lot of people are looking for something on Xaqualta. But what you seek may not be what you find.”
“We’ll be okay,” I assured.
Miguel shrugged. “It’s your life,” he said in a cavalier yet ominous voice. “Just don’t drink too much Zakulta,” he said with a chuckle.
It was a native plant with psychoactive properties. Brewed into a tea, it could take the user on a spiritual journey.
JD and I had already had our fill of spiritual journeys on our last adventure to La Perdida.
“If you want to experience the divine, I’m telling you, the women on Tzacamaya will make you see God.” Miguelgrinned again. I suspected he got kickbacks for every tourist he brought to specific establishments.
After some back-and-forth and an offer to pay double what we had previously negotiated, Miguel agreed to take us out to the island.
We arranged a return trip, then climbed into Miguel’s boat. It was a 25-foot center console with a hardtop. He fired up the twin outboards. I cast off the lines, and Miguel navigated us out of the slip. We headed out to sea, briny waves crashing against the bow. The morning sun glimmered the water as we headed into the abyss.
The water was pretty calm, and the tiny boat sliced through the swells with ease. San Montego grew small behind us. Soon, there was no trace of land. We were just a speck in the vast ocean.
It was early, but it was already 85°. At midday, with the fiery ball at full intensity, it could easily get up to 95°. There was a certain downside to tropical paradises. JD and I packed plenty of sunscreen, water, bug spray, a first aid kit, and medication. Unfortunately, we were unarmed. We didn’t need the hassle of transporting weapons. We were traveling under our own names. Isabella hadn’t provided cover identities or local contacts. This was strictly a side adventure, albeit with a little support from the intelligence maven.
I was reminded of our last journey to a tropical island—one that didn’t turn out so well. I kept telling myself this was going to be different. Easy. All we had to do was talk to Ivy, make a good argument, and she’d return to the mainland with us of her own free will. That was the fantasy.
